


Three Men In A Loft｜A Reality TV Show

by fouryearslaterdrabbles (CheshireCatLife)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Crack, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Reality TV, Steve is sick of their shit, a lot more would get done, but he'll put up with it because he loves them, if Sam and Bucky could just stop arguing for a moment, it's a complete joke but I'm hoping it's funny, some stucky might come at the end but that's up to you, there will be a lot of fucking swearing, there's not really a definitive time that it takes place but it's not Civil War compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/fouryearslaterdrabbles
Summary: "That bad?! THAT BAD?! Have you met Sam?" // "Sammy!" // "If that bird-lover tries to do anything funny, I’m out"And it all occurs because Steve decides to lock himself in a loft with his two best friends. Only thing is, he's pretty sure they hate each other.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Welcome to this chaos of a story. I'm not used to writing comedy so I can't really say much for it as of yet but any comments/kudos will be huuuugely appreciated. This has been edited by me but if there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out. Thank you to my beta, Clemmie, who is pointing out any gaping plot holes. But for now, I hope you readers enjoy.

 

A camera pans around a blank set and lands centre, pointing directly at a graciously smiling host. “Hello and welcome to…” she shouts over the music, spreading her arms out wide, smile widening as the rumbling off a drumroll rolls loudly in the background “…The Loft!” Cheers erupt from the speakers as the camera angle changes. The woman follows the path, smile planted fastidiously on her face. “This year, for our ten-year anniversary, we are celebrating in style,” only now is her smile beginning to grate on most viewers’ nerves, “with everything from special contestants to guest presenters, we have done it all to celebrate ten years of success. But of course, we must thank you, the audience, for this amazing achievement, it couldn’t have been done without you. You have been here all through the journeys we have witnessed: from weddings to funerals, it’s really all been seen. But this year may just be something no one could have foreseen. Something that has _never_ been seen before. So without further ado, let’s begin!”

*

The Loft is a simple show really. As a reality TV show, it follows almost no set plot. The contestants are the actors and are free to do as they’d like. But, as with every reality show, there are boundaries.

The rules go as follows:

Three contestants, picked at random from the public (of those who apply, of course), are made to live in the confinement of a loft - 350 square feet with no where to run. There will be no freedom from this bar elected times on weekends where the contestants are given opportunities to go to events as well as their elected times for interviews and a special weekly interview with a therapist (for added drama mostly but the producers are sure that it must help them at least _slightly_ ).

The aim of the show: win the love of the public. In the penultimate week, a vote will be held by the public for the winner and, once the votes are counted and the unfairness complained about by at least half the office, they will be crowned ‘The (Wo)Man of the Loft’, an honour amongst the public (for about a year or so where they front all the tabloids until the next contestant wins).

This year, though, had been special. And not only because it was its ten-year anniversary. The show didn’t want another stranger that would be thrown to the side after a year. They didn’t even want a b-rated celebrity to take the post. They wanted someone who would _last_. And who better than someone who had lasted a little too long already?

And, with a few little leaks to twitter and a general murmuring of excitement set off by the PR team, there had been even more hype than usual before the shows beginning. Soon, the leaks were coming from every angle, rumours spreading like wildfire about who they might get. Celebrities, people were saying. But who? Others asked. Not a single person could have guessed what really happened. No one could have thought that they’d be so _stupid_ as to think of this. No one could have guesses that they even accepted this!

But they did. Or at least, people will think they did.

And it all started on the fateful day that Tony got an unexpected phone call.

*

Tony sat at his desk, spinning in lazy circles, waiting for something ( _anything_ ) to entertain him. Not only had Pepper banned him from the lab but she’d also told him to do _work_ , the blasphemy. Tony didn’t _do_ work. He was a genius! He did what he wanted to! (Apart from, of course, don the Iron Man suit because apparently now that was _anti-Accords_ and yes, that was now a well used term. Disgraceful).

Spinning in another circle, he planned his escape. He looked from the desk to the door, wondering whether the path was short enough for him to get to the end before a security officer warned Pepper about his escape and the dreaded phone call would arrive. Pepper wouldn’t know if he left his office, all he’d have to do would be to get past the doors and then-

Standing, he paced towards the door but Pepper was trained, she knew what was coming and she knew what to do. The phone buzzed noisily, rattling the desk and encouraging Tony’s urge to throw the phone across the room and smash it to pieces. Why did she always catch him? Pushing down the urge too groan, he shuffled back too his desk and learnt over, squinting at the small print on the thin strip of screen across the top of the landline (this was Stark tech yet they still used a landline. Tony thought it was stupid but Pepper claimed it was for ‘aesthetic’. But Tony knew aesthetic, he _was_ aesthetic, and landlines _weren’t_ aesthetic).

It wasn’t Pepper. No, she hadn’t caught him. She didn’t know he was doing anything at all. But, all of sudden, the urge to leave was decimated and replaced with unbridled curiosity.

He’d never really picked up the phone before. That was usually left for emergencies or pranks. But, he had to admit, his curiosity peaked when he saw the small lettering on the screen read ‘ABC’ (or rather, a rather convoluted longer name that Tony had no care about, ABC was what mattered).

Why ABC would be calling him? What did they want with Stark Industries, or more importantly, him? Slowly, he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, lowering himself into his seat and slowly swinging the chair side to side.

“Hello, is this Tony Stark?”

Frowning, Tony replied “the one and only.”

“Hi, this the producer for The Loft, we’d like to ask whether you-“

“Yes!” Tony interrupted. He pulled himself to standing, body on full alert - excitement pulsing through his veins. “I’ll do it! I know you’re looking for contestants and really, you couldn’t have made a better choice. The audience will be pleased, at least, you know, because so often the people suck. And who else would you want? Genius: check. Billionaire: check. Playboy philanthropist: check. I’m everything an audience could ever want. I will totally win. Who else is going to be with me, though? Please don’t say it’s Romanoff. She’d be actual competition because she’d murder me if she lost so I’d have to do something stupid to make myself lose. Or what about Pepper! I like Pepper. Actually, if you were thinking along those lines, scrap it, that’s an awful idea. Bruce isn’t great either but-“

“Um, sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong impression-“ the producer started, her words stilted and awkward.

“What?”

“Well, we’ve been looking to get in contact with Steve Rogers and-“

“You’ve chosen _Steve_ over me,” Tony gasped in disbelief. “Are you insane? The man’s a hundred, he probably doesn’t even know how a camera works! How’s he going to do a reality TV show? Don’t even begin to think he’ll agree to this-“

“I’m sorry but we just request that you give us his contact details. We’ve been struggling to contact him and you’re the only contact listed by his secretary.” Wasn’t a surprise. Steve hadn’t talked to his secretary in years; he was clearly scared of having one. For a few moments, Tony rolled the idea over, trying to think of any positives. But then, just like all his genius ideas, it became clear - like a lightbulb on the top of his head, or the clouds parting to reveal the gleaming sun, or the rain pausing to leave the heady scent of genius behind…(Tony should never be trusted to create any _good_ metaphors, his mind was too busy for that sort of thing. Any anyway, he was an engineer, not a writer, what did you expect?).

“I can ask Steve, if you want. But! I have conditions.”

“Like what?”

“First of all, if - _if_ \- you manage to get Rogers. I want a place on the show. Not as a contestant, I don’t care about that,” that was evidently not true but Tony could do denial like he could build an AI: perfectly. “I want to be presenter.”

“We’ve already got a-“

“Only for this year. It’ll be great. The audience will love it. It is _me_ after all. Who wouldn’t?”

The producer paused, leaving Tony in the empty silence of his office. “Fine,” she capitulated “but you’re following the script.”

“Fiiine, but it better be good.”

“Okay, so you’ll get us Rogers.”

“Sure, I’ll even convince the guy. It can’t be that hard. Though, who’s he gonna be on with? That’ll matter to him - old man’s really into his ‘connections’ or something like that.”

“Well, we were hoping he would help us with that. We wanted people he knew, who he was close to-“

“Are we back to making me a contest-“

“We want James Barnes and Sam Wilson.”

“You WHAT?!”

*

“Steve, come on-“

“I’m not doing a reality show! That’s ludicrous.”

“It’ll be fun!” Tony argued, avidly forcing across his cause, despite the clock having passed through twenty minutes already. Now that he thought about it, he _really_ wanted this presenter role. And Steve was going to get it for him.

“Tony, you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Tony argued defensively.

“Pushing something because you’re bored. We’re _Avengers_ , not reality show stars. What is there’s an emergency and I’m off doing a _reality show_ , what’s going to happen? Can I really live with the thought that people are going to di-“

“You’re overthinking this! If there’s a mission, you’re free to go. You all will be. You haven’t even let explain the show yet _or_ who you’re with. And anyway, when do we ever go on missions nowadays anyway.”

“I’ve seen The Loft, Tony, you don’t need to explain it,” Steve sighed.

“Great! So you know how it works. But, you haven’t heard the best bit.”

Steve groaned, anticipation the worst. “What’s the best bit Tony?” He asked perfunctorily.

“You get it to do it with tin and bird man! Wait, no, wicked witch of the west. I prefer that. He even has the makeup to suit it. Oooh! Does that mean you get to be Dorothy?”

“Tony, stop-“ Steve interrupted, “you’re rambling. Have you asked whether they’d even like to do this?”

“No, that’s your job.”

“Mine? Why would it be-“

“They’re your friends, no matter how evil and assassin-y they are. They’ll actually do it if you ask.”

“Bucky might but Sam-“

“Literally followed you to save your evil best friend when he hardly knew you because you boasted to him a lot. That man’s insane but he’s loyal, he’ll do it if you do it.”

“That sounds like emotions to me, Tony.”

“Nope, don’t do emotions, Cap. I’m just stating facts. Just look at it this way, you get to go in with two of your friends, do a few tasks for your employers and then get out of there.”

“You’re making this sound like a mission.”

“Because that’s the only logic you’ll listen to, army man! Come on, _pretty please_ ,” Tony begged mockingly, fluttering his eyelashes.

“What’s in it for you?” Steve asked suspiciously.

“A presenter position?” Tony put forward timidly. Steve sighed. “This is why you want me to do this so bad, isn’t it?”

“Maybe?”

“Fine. It’s not as if I haven’t acted before.”

“Oh, this won’t be acting,” Tony went to remind him but Steve turned to quickly, frowning with a shrug. “Anything in front of a camera will be acting for me.”

“Oh, don’t try that with me, Cap. I know you may have been uncomfortable in front of a camera once but we all know you enjoy it now. You love destroying that perfect little stereotype you got going on.” Steve turned away, hiding his smirk. “You can’t prove that. Maybe I am as perfect as they say.”

“We both know that’s not true, Cap.”

“And you can’t prove it!”

*

The camera flicks on with a static hum reverberating in the background as the mic shifts out of frame to pick up Steve’s voice perfectly. “So, Steve,” the interviewer asks (who she is, is yet to be revealed but Steve is smiling at her like an old friend) “how do you feel about being on the show?”

“Well, um,” Steve scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know. Good, I guess?” The camera cuts off quickly. “Come on, Steve,” Natasha deplores, “for this to work you’re going to have to be a little more…descriptive.”

Steve sighs. “Fine, start rolling again.” Natasha nods and motions for the camera to come back on.

“So, Steve,” she asks again, “how do you feel about being on the show?”

“I feel good,” Steve replies, a little more upbeat. “I think it’ll be great, especially alongside the other two contestants,” (he can’t reveal them just yet - the company don’t know how they’re going to order this yet so it’s better to keep it under wraps). “I think it’ll be fun and a really good time for the other two to bond. I’ve been friends with both of them for a while now but they’ve been at odds with each other and I think they’ll really start to see in each other what I see in them.”

“Perfect!” Natasha shouts as the camera cuts out. “That was great, Steve. You think you can do more like that?” He nods confidently, smiling at the praise. “Great. We can use that as the first clip. You ready to do a few more?” Steve nods, leaning back, finally letting himself bask in the cameras attention (he wouldn’t let them no just yet how much of a little shit he is. It’s better to pretend to be perfect, it makes the breaking of that facade later all the more fun).

 

Bucky wasn’t really doing all that much when Steve approached him. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to fill his time nowadays. Without daily work, care taking or Hydra’s hands on his puppet strings, he was left to fiddle about with the TV, impatiently flip through the pages of a book and pace stormily back and forth, stuck in a loop of repetitive thoughts, perpetuated by the boredom of being alone.

Steve, in very Steve like fashion, strode in without warning (he didn’t need to with Bucky) whilst Bucky switched through the channels again and stated his mind. “I’ve got a proposition. One that I may have agreed to myself - I was manipulated into it - and now I need your help.”

Immediately, Bucky had perked up, looking at Steve intently. “When you say you need help, I assume the worst. You’re going to have to tell me more than that. What did you do?”

“You know the Loft, the one I showed you the first episode of. People trapped together, arguing a lot and-“

“Yeah, yeah, Stevie. I remember the Loft.”

“Okay, well, I’ve agreed to go on it.”

Bucky paused, looking blankly at Steve. “You…WHAT?!”

“I agreed to do a reality TV show.”

“But…why? You ain’t that sorta person. You’ll hate it.”

“Weeell, a few things persuaded me. First, if I do it, Tony gets to present, which he really wants to do-“

“Steve, just because Tony wants-“

“I know, I know but he really wanted it and you know I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. But, you know, they need two others to go on and if I’m going to survive then-“

“The producers want me to do it, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Look, I know you don’t really want to be in the public eye right now but-“

“You think it’ll be fun?”

Steve smiled guiltily, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Me, you, an apartment like the one we used to live in. We don’t get enough time together, Buck. I think it’ll be good.”

“And the cameras?”

“I can ignore them easily. Have been for years now.”

Bucky smirked, thinking back to the small little Steve Rogers that vied for attention yet cowed away once the audience’s eyes turned to him. But, looking at him now, Bucky noted the change: the glint in his eye, the faint smirk on the corner of his lips. “You’ve finally learnt to like the attention, haven’t you?”

“Maybe?” Steve admitted shyly but Bucky broke out into a proud grin. It was time Steve got the recognition he deserved. No, it was time Steve _accepted_ the recognition he was given.

“Ok, so who’s the third person.”

“Um, well-“

“Yeah…”

“It’s…”

“Spit it out, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve replied automatically. “It’s Sam.”

“Sam as in Sam Wilson?” Bucky’s smile fell into a frown.

“Yes.”

“You want me to be locked in a room with Sam Wilson?”

“I mean, you get to go out on the weekends-“

“You want,” Bucky said louder, “ _me_ to be locked in a room with _Sam Wilson_?”

“Come on, Buck, it won’t be that bad.”

“That bad?! THAT BAD?! Have you met Sam?”

“Yes and I like him!”

“He’s fucking rude to me!”

“You’re rude to him!”

Bucky huffed. “Fine,” he spat. “But only because you think it’ll be fun. If that bird-lover tries to do anything funny, I’m out.”

Steve nodded seriously. “I’ll tell the producer.”

*

The camera flicks onto a chaotic scene. Or rather, a very discomfortingly calm scene, to the extent that it could be chaotic. The only person in shot is Bucky, who’s so still that you could almost believe he wasn’t there. He’s not smiling but rather frowning deeply, staring straight into the camera, black-painted eyes intent on the viewer like he’s just daring them to vote for someone other than him. Although, he would be perfectly happy for Steve to win. If Sam wins though, he’s gonna fucking-

“So, James-“ Natasha starts.

“It’s Bucky.”

“Does everyone call you Bucky?” Bucky smiled slyly, staring just off centre, presumably at the unseen interviewer behind the camera. To anyone, it could look like his eyes hadn’t moved at all. “Yes, most do. Except for a very specific person. I met her a very long time ago. She doesn’t seem to like the nickname. Says it doesn’t suit me.”

“Any idea why?” To anyone in the public, it sounds like an honest question. To Bucky, well, he can hear every inch of sarcasm in her tone.

“I don’t know, you’d have to ask her.”

“Can I have a name?”

“Not yet. I don’t think she’d appreciate it.”

Natasha laughs off screen, smiling gently down at her paper. “So, _Bucky_ , how do you feel about being on the show?”

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly and leans back in his chair, a peek of skin flashing just above his glove, revealing silver and not pink. “I’m feeling a bit ambivalent. On one hand, I’m on here with someone who’s very special to me. On the other, I’m with someone I think is little more than a nuisance so really-“

“A nuisance?”

“Yeah, bird-man is a nuisance. He’s rude, inconsiderate and-“ Natasha cuts off the camera quickly with a flick of her wrist, a situation she had been prepared for when she’d been offered the role. “ _James_ , how about we don’t bring in your feelings about Sam just yet. Focus on the positives-“

“He has no positives.”

“James!” She chastises. Sam is her friend too.

“What?! He doesn’t!” Natasha just sighs, motioning for a wrap up. “We’ll do this another time, maybe when you’re being less of an ass.”

“Hey! I’m not! It’s him that-“

“Cut it out, James.”

“Fine,” he mutters. If only they knew the truth.

*

“Sammy!” Bucky yelled obnoxiously, breaking from the usual deadpan facade into the teasing tone he so loved to ridicule Sam with.

“I’ve got neeews!” He sang, slamming the door open and entering much to the chagrin of his ‘friend’.

“What is it, Bucky?” He sighed.

“I’ve got an offer for you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Whenever you have an offer, it’s never good.”

“You loved the last one.”

“Did I?”

“Come on! People think I hate you even more than they usually do. It’s brilliant.”

“I do hate you.”

“You did hate me.”

“That too.”

Bucky sighed. “Are you going to listen to this offer?”

“I know I don’t often complain about this but you seem a little too…cheery.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“Of course you’re allowed to be happy but you’re just usually a little more-“

“Evil?” Bucky cut in, smiling too largely with his teeth, looking far more like the Cheshire Cat than any reputable character.

“I mean, you’re not wrong but I was more heading towards grumpy.”

“I’m not _grumpy_ ,” Bucky whined grumpily.

“I could literally get a side by side with grumpy cat to prove you wrong.”

“Fine,” Bucky groaned, “but can you just let me tell you this offer?”

“Go ahead, man.”

“So you know the Loft?”

“As in one of the best reality TV shows of all time?”

Bucky smiled. “Perfect. You like it. Because my offer: be a contestant.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yup. I’ve secured you a spot in the three.”

“Really?! You sure? Who am I with? Please say it’s Beyonce-“

“Me and Steve.”

Sam’s face fell flat. “You and Steve?”

“Yup. Me and Steve.”

“It’s Steve and I.”

“Oh shut up. Anyway, what’s wrong with me and Steve.”

“-Steve and I-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. What’s wrong with Steve and _I_? Wait…no…that’s supposed to me and Steve! You little shit!” Sam smirked, leaning against the wall, arms folded. Bucky just stood there, door still in his hand, glowering. “Anyway, what’s wrong with _me and Steve_.”

“Nothing. Steve’s great. You on the other hand-“

“Fuck you!”

Sam gasped, covering his heart with his hand ostentatiously. “Swearing is rude you know. I could forgive the first time, but the _second_.” Bucky just sighed, folding his own arms, holding the door open with his foot. “Look, you want this or not?”

“Of course I fucking want this, who do you take me for?”

“That’s settled then. Oh, and don’t swear at me. It’s _unforgivable_ , apparently.” With that, he let his foot slip away, causing the heavy door to slam shut, no doubt pissing the hell out of Sam. He hated how heavy the doors were after he couldn’t open one (Bucky still hasn’t told him that he locked it) and was ridiculed for weeks about not being strong enough. He was an army man, he was proud of his strength and to be belittled like-

Well, let’s just say there was fair reason for Sam having an ever-lasting pissing contest with Bucky.

*

The camera smoothly turns onto the sight of Sam’s frowning face, muttering - evidently disgruntled - to the stage assistant whilst Natasha clears her throat. “Filming,” she coughs under her breath, causing Sam to spin to the side, almost snapping his head in the process, with a beamingly fake grin. “Hi,” he says like he’s flirting with the camera; he probably is. He’s always had a thing for Natasha (it’s never going to get anywhere but he can hope).

“So, Sam, how do you feel about being on the show?”

“Oh, I’m really happy. Really am. I think it’s going to be great.” In an attempt to loosen him up - his smile is already fraying at the edges under the camera’s scrutiny - she asks the burning question on everyone’s mind. “Even with Bucky in the Loft with you?” Sam’s smile automatically falls away but it replaced by something a lot more natural. He’s smirking like he’s got a prank that’s just about to be enacted. “Oh, that’s the best bit. You know how long I’ve wanted to make that man suffer? This is my chance for revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“Oh, you don’t even want to know.”

“I think we do.” Sam hums for a moment, pausing. Suddenly, his head snaps up and his grin grows wider. “How about we do an episode on it?” Natasha pauses before holding up a hand to wave off the cameras. “I’ll have to talk to the producers but I think that’ll go through. I was already thinking of doing a few prequels before the episodes air. We could do a few episodes for the first week - probably three - of back stories and things. Or put the first week in there too. I think it might work.”

“I already have the title for it: The Origins of Sam’s Anger,” Sam sang with a smile. “It’s time to get my sweet, sweet revenge.”

*

The screen starts black but erupts into colour as the woman voice-overs the introduction. People at home watch on the edge of the seats, ignorant to the chaos that’s about to go down.

“And this years _special presenter_ , brought all the way from New York,” she starts, the excitement evident in her voice (though, it’s probably a farce, this man has taken her job, after all) “is Tony Stark!” The camera suddenly changes shots and Tony is standing there, smiling broadly for the crowd, waving a hand high up in the air, holding his head up with pride. “Welcome, you little people of the public,” ironic, given his height, “TO THE LOFT!” Cheers erupt from every angle. Fans scream, generic viewers lean in, haters can’t help but break a smile (they always watch to see the contestants, just so they can ridicule them). “I know, I know, you’re still in shock that I’m here. I know because I’m brilliant. BUT, we have more important people to get to (though, that’s only part of the script. We all know who you care about here) so without further ado, let’s reveal our contestants.”

With bated breath, the audience lean in as the first screen pops up. It’s dark but slowly a light comes on, revealing Sam, sitting on a stool, smiling for the audience. Tony’s voice cut back in, laughter in his tone. “He’s known for his great therapeutic advice and horrifically cruel pranks. To some people, he’s known as Bird Man, but Contestant One is Sam Wilson, The Falcon!” People fall off their sofas in shock. Fans hug each other, super-hero nerds have heart attacks and the haters admit that for once, this show can’t really be all that bad (though there are still a few, mostly due to the Accords, that mention both the danger or the stupidity of having superheroes on a reality TV show). But they have a real life superhero on a reality tv show! The ludicrous of it all is-“

A second light appears on screen, lighting up another man: blonde, blue eyed and objectively beautiful. “Known for the mask he hides behind, this man is known for his loyalty and bravery but known to me as an annoyingly grandpa-like friend. He’s been a hero since the 1940s, it’s Steve Rogers, also known as CAPTAIN AMERICA!!!” The screams get louder, the heart attacks get stronger and the world goes insane. The viewing count doubles as they go to the top of twitter trending and the whispers of the final contestant spread like dangerous wildfire.

Who could it be?

The Black Widow-

The Hulk-

Scarlet Witch?

A third light appears to show a man glowering in his seat. Tony speaks again, but this time slower. “He’s been through more wars than we can even imagine. He’s known for his loyalty to his best friend and the absolutely, ridiculously, most _BUILDING DAMAGING_ pranks known to man, our final contestant is Captain America’s best friend Bucky Barnes, also known as the WEINER SOLDIER!”

One moment, the contestants are on their stools, the next, two of them have fallen off in laughter whilst the third plots his revenge. Because yes, he can make pranks that will destroy even the impenetrable glass of Stark Tower, and for that reference, he will _destroy Tony_.

And the whole of America will be watching.


	2. Episode 1 (Two Hour Special), Pt I: ‘The Origins of Sam’s Anger’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has many reasons to hate Bucky and really, really wants to point them out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop! Another chapter. I'm enjoying writing this far too much but I enjoy comedy writing a lot more than I thought. Sorry if it isn't actually funny because they're mostly taken of meme images and it can be quite hard to replicate XD
> 
> Disclaimer: most of the jokes aren't mine. They're references or memes found on Instagram. If you would like to see the original post of a joke, feel free to ask :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!
> 
> -fouryearslater

> The camera flickered on to show an empty set: grey walls, grey floors and a rickety wooden stool centre stage. Slowly, a man treads into frame, collapsing onto the stool, ignoring the disconcerting squawk of the wood. He sighs, looking off into the distance before his attention’s caught by an off-camera voice: Natasha Romanoff’s. “So, you promised to tell us the reasons that you and Bucky don’t get along.”
> 
> Sam scoffed. “I didn’t promise anything but I’ll gladly tell you. It all began on one fateful day…” Sam narrates, his actions and gestures getting larger as the story goes on, generic stock photos flashing on the background behind him: TV is finally catching up on all the ‘peng memes that are lit’, as the producers say.

 

Bucky sat in the ridiculously small car, foot tapping - very reluctantly - on the floor. There was barely room to sit still, never-mind tap but Bucky’s mind had already gone haywire; he wasn’t thinking straight (though, did he ever?). The overpowering urge to voice his feelings wasn’t tampered down for long. He tried watching Steve out the window but felt awkward staring at what he would assume to be a private moment between his best friend and this…woman. A woman who was helping them, mind. But still, learning her name, that was a bit out of the leagues of things Bucky was willing to do.

His eyes flickered to Sam and then down to his feet, lodged far underneath the seat before he sighed “can you move your seat up?”

“No.”

 

> “The dude wrecked my car on that highway two years ago! Why should I move my seat up for him when he wrecked my car?” Sam shouts loudly at the camera. “He took the entire steering wheel off!”
> 
> “Do you not think it’s time to forgive him?”
> 
> Sam’s face falls into a mimicry of what it was, all that time ago, when Bucky had asked him to move his seat up as he says “I will not forgive. And I will never forget.”
> 
> “But that was only one time? Surely that can’t be the reason behind all this fighting.”
> 
> “Oh no, there’s so much more-“

 

Sam sifted slowly through his wardrobe, smiling at the sheer amount Tony had stocked him with. Finally, living with Tony Stark had come with some perks: alongside free food, security and sound-proofing (but really, that didn’t make up for the annoyance that was Tony’s presence). Though, he noted that there were things missing. Namely, the clothes that Bucky had borrowed when he claimed his were ‘too small’ (fucking muscle man). It had all happened by accident, really. Sam would never have _willingly_ given his clothes to Bucky but Steve was there giving him those puppy eyes that he couldn’t resist and he capitulated with a “hey, man! That’s not fair” before handing a stack of clothes over to Bucky with a “those better be in pristine condition when I want ‘em back.”

After a week, and some tampered down frustration, Sam finally asked for them back. So, it was just karma for being a _nice person_ when his clothes came back, each and every t-shirt with its left arm ripped off.

“Baaaarnes!” He screamed as the man hurried down to the corridors, too wimpy to face his own actions. Sam’s fury blinded him as he trailed Bucky down the corridors, only to catch up whilst the guy tried frantically to open his door. “Barnes, don’t you dare open that door!”

Bucky turned, frowning. “What, am I not allowed to go into my own apartment now?”

“Not whilst I have a bone to pick with you.”

“What? What have I done?” Sam didn’t believe the innocent act for a second.

“My shirts. Have their sleeves. RIPPED OFF!”

“Do they? I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t- you didn’t notice?!” Sam screeched, his voice escalating dramatically in volume. “You’re gonna pay for this, Barnes. Wait no, you really _are_ gonna pay for this. I want that money by next week, I’ll send you the bill.”

He never did get that money.

So, it only became worse when Sam, on one sunny day in June, noticed that a few tops seemed to be missing again. More than few, actually. Sam was sure he had been fully stocked and now all he had was a dress shirt and a ratty t-shirt that he had used when he had an odd phase of interior decoration. So, of course, within second Sam was outside Bucky’s door, raucously knocking on the thick metal, shouting “Barnes, you better come out here right now!” Per request, Bucky opened the door - looking as exhausted as usual - and leant against the frame, looking smug. Sam just gaped, eyes darting to Bucky’s chest and then to Bucky’s gleaming metal arm. “That’s…that’s my shirt.”

“Oh, is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You ripped the sleeve off!”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.” His smug grin grew at the edges as Sam floundered like a fish. “But…but that’s mine.”

“But, why would it be yours if there was only one sleeve. I’m the amputee here.”

“You have a _metal arm_ , that’s not being an amputee! You’re a frickin’ cyborg, man! Also, you _ripped the sleeve off_.”

“But you don’t have proof of that.” Sam’s head looked like it was going to explode but he had no argument against that. Gritting his teeth, he spat “I’ll get you for this, Barnes, I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS!” Angrily, he stalked back to his room, where his wardrobe, from then on, remained fully stocked.

  

> “You see?!” Sam shouts at the camera, gesticulating wildly. “He’s a menace. Who does that to a man’s clothes? Those things are precious to me.”
> 
> “Tops aren’t that expensive, Sam. And anyway, couldn’t you have taken some back. Also, he hasn’t been doing it recentl-“
> 
> “Don’t you dare do that, Romanoff. I’m in the right here. Look, I’ll prove it.”

 

Steve strode into the Avengers compound - because he wasn’t really capable of walking any other way now that his body was a _tank_ \- eyes downcast. “Man, you alright?” Sam asked because he was a caring kind of guy, he wasn’t letting his best friend go around looking like that. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve replied dejectedly, falling into his seat as the rest of the team slipping in behind him. Natasha sent him a wary glance, Tony smirked, Bruce cowered and Thor, as usual, remained completely oblivious. Any other members of the team were off running their own business. And, if he was honest, Sam didn’t much care what they were up to. For the most part, his concern remained around Steve and then, sometimes, the incidents that were enough to screw up the natural balance of things. “Sooo,” Tony began, raising his eyebrows impatiently, “what’s the meeting for?”

“We have a situation,” Steve interrupted monotonously, business face on. “Well, not so much a situation but I thought you all ought to be here for it.”

“Why do you need all-“ Natasha tried to interrupt but Steve wouldn’t let a person have a word in edgeways.

“You all remember the Winter Soldier incident?” There’s a chorus of nods, most prominently from Sam and Natasha. “Well, you also know then that the Winter Soldier is also my best friend Bucky Barnes.”

“Was-“

“Is. I found him. He’s…he’s here. Come on out, Buck.” Out of the shadows (and fuck, how had nobody seen him there? These guys, supposedly, were professionals), Bucky stepped forward, face as unfriendly as a kid who’d been denied candy (except, seriously, this dude had a _glare_ , Sam couldn’t realistically pretend that a child was even capable of a face like that). Sam gaped, open mouthed, as Natasha recoiled slightly, so subtly that he was sure no one else noticed but he knew her well enough by now to see some of her tells (and he wasn’t the kinda guy that would think he was anywhere _close_ to knowing all of them). “Guys, this is Bucky, my best friend.” Steve looked worried, or most notably dejected by the lack of response. Sam, in an attempt at being nice, said “hi, again, please don’t murder us this time.” And okay, maybe it was a little harsh but the guy literally _growled_ at him. Growled! Like who the heck growled anymore. “Fuck, Steve. Get yo fucking dog.”

Steve just smiled wickedly. “Oh, he don’t bite.”

As Tony mouthed, “did Cap just make a Vine reference?”, Bucky growled again, approaching Sam like an attack dog let off its leash. “Yes it do! Yes it do!” Sam screeched, recoiling, whilst Tony just continued to mouth “is this an accident or do they know they’re doing this?”

 

> “He _growled_ ,” Sam punctuates again. “ _Growled_.”
> 
> “He was in a bad place.”
> 
> “That doesn’t mean he gets to growl at me!”
> 
> “You’re gonna need to give me more that that, Sam,”
> 
> “Fine. How about this?”

 

Steve and Sam walked slowly and carefully through the abandoned building. “Do you really think this is a good idea, Steve?” Sam sighed, navigating through the black and grey.

“It has to be,” Steve replied stubbornly.

“Look, you need to keep your cool when you talk to Bucky. We have to be careful.”

“Got it,” Steve replied assuredly but Sam was almost a hundred percent sure he wasn’t listening. No matter what Sam seemed to say, Steve never listened when it came to Bucky. This guy would clearly let himself just die if Bucky tried to kill him.

Wait, that had _already happened_.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. He prided himself over being Steve’s protection, the sanity to his strength but with Bucky in the equation, he was really failing his job. Bucky, from what Steve had said, had used to be in Sam’s position (though he would only ever say it in a convoluted, roundabout way so that he never had to admit that his ideas were _stupid_ and that he even needed what Sam liked to classify himself as: an underpaid babysitter. Actually, wait, not underpaid, well now that he was criminal, maybe but still, Stark’s pay load was goooood) and that seemed to be working against Sam big time. If Steve was using Bucky as an example right now then he was probably about to go on a fucking murder spree and still keep his charming, Cap smile on the whole fricking time.

So, like the great friend Sam is, he got a spray bottle full of water (you know, the kind they use on cats) and followed Steve into the danger zone. Steve entered, trying to ignore the swell of his heart when Bucky whispered “Steve” and asked “which Bucky am I talking to?”

Bucky smiled, ignored that his arm was clamped _in a vice_ and decided that _insulting Steve_ was the best option. “Your mum’s name was Sarah,” he smirked, “you used to wear newspaper in your shoes.”

And look, in a normal situation, the joke may have been funny: who doesn’t like a childhood anecdote. But, when the dude has his arm in a clamp and is suspected of terrorism, Sam really wasn’t in the mood to joke. However, Steve, apparently, was. Although his words didn’t quite go as such (because Steve, as well all know, is the pinnacle of stoicism and would never show his emotions so readily), all Sam heard was, “say no more, I trust you with my life-“ and, because desperate times call for desperate measures, he sprayed the water. Steve recoiled, frowning, whilst Sam arched an eyebrow. “What did I say?”

“But-“

“No buts. This guy is a terrorist.”

“I didn’t-“

“Shut up, Barnes, this isn’t about you.”

Or, well, Sam liked to think it went like that and not a _fucking suicide mission_.

 

 

> “But, he was right. Vienna, that wasn’t him. And that wasn’t even a reason to be annoyed at him,” Natasha interrupts, sighing. “That’s on Steve.”
> 
> “Okay fine, that one was weak. But look, I was saving the best for last. Listen to this.”

 

Steve was relaxing, as he liked to do, curled up on the sofa with a book - a _real_ book - in his hand. Leisurely, he flipped through the pages, enjoying the dramatic, and downright comic nature, of Andrzej Sapkowski; fantasy, despite his involvement in it on pretty much day to day basis, fascinated him. How someone could build whole worlds for a reader was beyond Steve.

Bucky, on the other hand, was restless. He didn’t have the patience for a book, nor the tranquility to just sit and listen to music. He bustled about the kitchen, preparing all of about ten cups of coffee (he wasn’t going to sleep at this point anyway, it was practically morning), switching his view point from the New York skyline, to Steve, to the room where Sam lay asleep: peacefully dreaming about a vacation in France with an objectively attractive girl, because who said Sam wasn’t a little shallow in his dreams? But seriously, the man deserved it. “Ugh,” Bucky groaned, collapsing onto the sofa, jostling the coffee (some of it _may_ have spilt onto his lap but we don’t talk about that) mug in his hands.

Sighing, Steve shut his book. “If you’re this bored, just sleep, Buck.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Bucky lamented and Steve’s eyes softened. They all knew the reasons Bucky couldn’t sleep, no matter how much he avoided saying it aloud, and it wasn’t Steve place to force him. “Then find something to do.”

“There’s _nothing_ to do. It’s too late to go to the gym-“

“Too late? I didn’t think we’d stayed up long. What time is it?”

“No idea,” Bucky shrugged. “Pass the recorder.”

“Do we even had a record-“

“In the drawer in the coffee table. Left one.” Curious, Steve searched through the drawer and found an obnoxiously rainbow-coloured children’s recorder and passed it to Bucky. Catching Steve’s eye, Bucky smirked and brought the recorder to his mouth, pressing his fingers in a very specific configuration and blew as hard as he could. Steve shrank back, trying to lean back from the shrill, whistle like noise Bucky was perpetuation. Once his lungs ran out of breath, Bucky finally took his mouth of the recorder and listened.

“Who the FUCK is playing the recorder at 2am!?” Sam screamed, letting out a frustrated - and not at all girly - scream. Bucky turned to Steve, smirking, and just said “it’s 2am.”

 

> Natasha sighs. “I understand your frustration but don’t you believe you are in part responsible for this rivalry between you two.”
> 
> “He started it!” Sam whined petulantly, like he wasn’t a helper at the VA - he was half a _therapist_ , for gods sake but he can’t even solve a little communication issue between friends. (Or maybe, unbeknownst to the audience, he already has). “Look,” Sam sighs, “I love all my friends. I’m surrounded by a great group of people. Him included. Seriously, I love all of them: Steve, you,” he glances down at his hand ostentatiously, “Bucket.”
> 
> Natasha can do nothing but sigh.


End file.
